


After the Race

by mcicioni



Category: Rawhide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 14:39:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12633132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mcicioni/pseuds/mcicioni
Summary: An unofficial coda ("missing scene"?) set immediately after the end of the episode "The Race".





	After the Race

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Louise, for initial help with language, and to Stephantom, for encouragements, suggestions, and final edit.

It was well past midnight, the saloon girls had disappeared, and the bartenders were pointedly sweeping under the feet of the only remaining group of customers, the bunch of drovers clustered around a table. 

“I think it’s time to go back to camp and get some sleep,” Wishbone said between yawns. “We got all day tomorrow to sort things out.”

“Yeah.” “All right, Wish.” “Not a bad idea.” “Comin’, Mr. Wishbone.” Chairs were scraped backwards and weary, befuddled men started making for the batwing doors.

Wishbone stood up and turned questioning eyes on the last two men still sitting. “Want me to take him to sleep things off in the chuckwagon, Mr. Favor?”

“No.” The voice was only slightly blurred, and Favor’s eyes, lifting from the still full mug he was turning between fairly steady fingers, were clear. “You got your hands full with the men. I got a room upstairs, I’ll take care of Mr. Yates.”

“Just plain Rowdy will do,” Rowdy drawled, turning his head slowly to grin at the wide semi-circle of empty beer mugs in front of him. The grin widened as Favor’s hand fastened on the back of his vest and started hauling him up.

They made it first to the privy, Favor half-supporting Rowdy and half-directing his wavering movements, and then, slowly, one step at a time, up the stairs, Favor’s hand now firmly under Rowdy’s elbow, tiredness and relief and anticipation swimming inside Rowdy along with the beers. 

It had been three weeks since... Three long weeks, so much more difficult than he’d ever thought they would be. And now it was all straightened out. A little private smile parted his lips, and he blew out a short, happy breath.

As Favor released him to unlock the door and then shut it behind them, he stepped in, grinned at the moonlight filtering in through the flimsy curtains, beamed at the cracks on the walls and at the inviting expanse of the big bed, and flopped down on it, closing his eyes and spreading his arms, only vaguely wondering if it would be all right for him to take off his boots later. Much later. First things...

“I ain’t asked you to make yourself comfortable.”

It stung like an unexpected whiplash. Rowdy blinked, looked up into Favor’s frown, tried to knit his eyebrows, slowly extended an arm, and found himself being pulled up quickly and ungently. His stomach tightened as worry began to coil up inside it, cool and slimy as a water snake. He stood up uncertainly, the shadows in the room swaying just a little around him, the fumes of alcohol dissipating with astounding speed.

“What...?”

The other man thrust both hands into his gunbelt and moved a couple of steps around him, slowly and deliberately. Rowdy swallowed, turning a little to follow each movement.

 _“You’ll be eatin’ my dust.”_ A couple more steps, then a pause. _“I’ll be drivin’faster, better an’ smoother than you.”_

Oh. Right. In front of all the boys he’d admitted that his victory had been a fluke, he’d said he wasn’t ready for a herd of his own, he’d asked to be taken on as a simple drover. But it obviously hadn’t been enough. Resentment started intertwining with worry, heating the tight place in his stomach.

 _“You could never make it on your own,”_ he countered, amazed at how easily he could reproduce his boss’s deep, mocking drawl of two weeks earlier. _“ We ate your dust, like you said we would.”_ This time he spoke heartily, a good loser acknowledging defeat.

They stood, breathing a little harder, only inches apart, staring at each other. In the darkness around them Rowdy could just make out the creases on Favor’s forehead, and the deep lines at the sides of the wide, thin-lipped mouth. The last traces of happy inebriation dissolved as he recalled the look they had exchanged when he’d overtaken Favor’s herd, when Favor had had to let him move ahead. He’d tipped his hat at his former boss, smiling defiantly. _I heard you lose your temper last night, the moment you stepped out of my camp. I really got under your skin this time. That’s good. Means I’ve stopped bein’ the kid you tease and treat like a four-year-old, and bed when you got the time or the itch._

And Favor had just looked back, unsmiling, unmoved, apparently unconcerned. _Even if we ain’t goin’ to be ridin’ together no more after this, I hope I taught you a lesson, Gil Favor. You’ll never take me for granted again._

Oh yes, every second of that encounter had been pure satisfaction, never mind the aching loneliness before and after it, that kept ambushing him for nearly three damn weeks. Every time he yelled to his men to head the herd up and move it out. Every time he sat down for chow and looked around, and there was nobody sipping coffee by the chuckwagon and keeping an eye on poker games and arguments. Every time he shook out his bedroll away from the campfire, and there was no hard, warm hand to make its way through the folds of the blanket and seize him and take him to heaven with a few brisk, competent strokes, followed by a wryly drawled “Pleasant dreams” which pushed him into blissful unconsciousness. Every time he rode away from the herd for a few hours, and there was nobody beside him, and there were no silent exchanges of looks and nods followed by silent coupling over a rock or a log, fast and rough and wonderful, with a final burst of pleasure whose heat and light stayed inside him for days afterwards. All that was over, finished when he quit, and there was no going back. 

Or so he’d thought, for the whole three weeks of the race.

And now...

Rowdy closed his eyes. What a damn fool he’d been to think that everything that had happened, the distance, the competition, the anger between them, could be straightened out with a couple of apologies, a handshake and a few drinks. As his boss was undoubtedly about to let him know.

Rustling sounds made him re-open his eyes, draw in his breath and stare. Favor had unbuckled and dropped chaps and gunbelt, and his fingers were on his belt buckle. The moment his eyes met Rowdy’s, he jerked his chin towards Rowdy’s denim-clad legs.

“Drop ‘em.”

Rowdy’s eyes instantly narrowed and his neck and cheeks flushed crimson. _All right, I made you real mad, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let you give me a hidin’ like you was my pa and I was fourteen years old._ He balled his hands into fists, steeling himself to put them up, for what would be their last fight, their last contact.

And then he saw that Favor’s fingers were, very slowly so as to keep an almost imperceptible shaking under control, beginning to undo the top button of his trousers. The heavy bulge visible under fingers and cloth made Rowdy’s heart beat faster, and his own groin tense reflexively. 

_So that’s what you want. To show me who’s the boss all over again. If that’s the payback, fine with me._ Slowly he unfolded his fists, undid buckles and buttons, half-stumbled over lowered, bunched-up pants and underwear, and just stood there, rising and swelling without being able to control it, gazing at the other man with desperate intensity.

Favor kept his eyes locked into Rowdy’s as he slowly opened trousers and long johns and took himself out, then jerked his chin again, in the direction of the bed. As Rowdy took a slow step towards it, a broad hand splayed itself on his back and pushed him forward and down, bending him over the mattress.

His heart kicking furiously at his ribcage, Rowdy half-turned, and shuddered as he saw Favor look around, then move towards the unlit lamp on the table, unscrew the top, dip his fingers in the oil, and moisten himself, slowly and deliberately. A long stride back to the bed, and slippery fingers brushed Rowdy’s bare butt, dipped into the cleft, and pushed in decisively, stretching him with urgent competence. Rowdy took a deep breath, dripping with anticipation, and thrust once into the mattress.

“No.”

A sharp slap on his thigh, and work-hardened hands grabbed his waist and hauled him up, butt twitching, hot rigid cock now thrusting in the cool air. He felt the man behind him shift, positioning himself, and then was entered, seared and filled by one long, powerful thrust. _Oh. Yes. I want you. Ain’t stopped wantin’ you since the day I quit._ He braced himself on his forearms and pushed strongly backwards, in fierce, wordless demand. The answer was a series of short, pounding strokes, his writhing hips held firmly against the tickling warmth of a wiry bush, his buttocks slapped by heavy hairy balls, his thighs grazed and scratched by the rough denim of the other man’s trousers. It burned and it hurt and it was so damn good, the first time on a bed, so much better than rocks and logs, oh yeah, more please, and things had better straighten themselves out after this...

“Three weeks.”

Rowdy dizzily wondered if he’d heard right - the words had been spat out between thrusts, and almost bitten off. His brain spun wildly, trying to grasp what meaning they could have, in that moment. _Took me long enough to heel, is that it?_ He grimaced, resentment mixing with the pleasure, poisoning it. All he could do was slam back against the other body, returning the full force of every single thrust, and squeeze the hot rigid length inside him with all the strength of his muscles, in silent defiance.

“Three weeks, damn you.”

A hand slid beneath Rowdy’s body to seize his cock, close around it, and give it brief, staccato jerks, while the battering into his body grew more violent, pounding him into the mattress, driving all coherent thoughts out of his brain, just flashes of light behind tightly closed eyelids, and emotions changing with every ramming stroke, anger and pleasure and confusion and need and pleasure and hunger and fury and...

Favor’s body folded itself over and around Rowdy’s, stubble scratching shoulders and neck.

“I thought...”

The rest of the sentence was cut off by a groan against the join of Rowdy’s neck and shoulder, and by teeth sinking into the curve of the neck, marking it mercilessly, sending a jolt of fire through every nerve end. The rhythm of Favor’s thrusts faltered for a moment, then resumed relentlessly, tension mounting with every sticky slap of flesh against and into flesh.

 _You thought what?_ And Rowdy’s eyes widened as an image flashed through his mind, and a shudder of recognition chilled his spine. Favor in the saloon a few hours earlier, sitting with Wishbone and the boys and Weed, an island of gloom in the middle of the cheerful reunion, raking a hand through his untidy hair, his habitual impassiveness replaced by open brooding. Hard as Rowdy had tried to concentrate on his beer and not look that way, the image had got to his brain anyway, and had lurked there until that moment.

_You thought we were through, you and I. And you was just goin’ to live with it because you thought that’s what I wanted._

The realisation washed over him, more powerful and more intoxicating than a whole bottle of good whisky. It was worth all the crow he’d eaten, boiled, baked and stewed. And worth all that he’d had to put up with before from Favor, and all that he’d undoubtedly have to put up with in the future. And all that Favor had suffered because of him, and all that he would keep on suffering. A slow, unseen smile crept on his face as he remembered how Favor’s expression and posture had changed the moment he’d stood up and made his way towards their table. _You’re as sweet-tempered as a mountain lion and as reasonable as an unbroken mule, but you and I ain’t never goin’ to be through, I swear it._

Supporting his weight and Favor’s on one forearm, he dragged his other hand back between his shaking knees, and lifted it so that his fingers covered Favor’s, wrapped around his aching cock. He pressed and stroked them, while his muscles tightened and throbbed around the other man’s tensing length.

The touch on his fingers made Favor gasp and groan again, deep in his throat. With a two-syllable cry that could have been Rowdy’s name muffled against Rowdy’s neck, he shuddered and exploded, shooting fast thick spurts into the red-hot flesh enclosing and sucking his. Half laughing and half sobbing, Rowdy squeezed the hand curled around him, then bucked and shook hard enough to make the bed jolt as he dissolved into a long, sweet stream of release.

Strong hands held him through every spasm, then gently eased him down onto the mattress. With a brief sigh Favor slid out, moistened a bandana with water from the pitcher on the washstand and cleaned both of them up, then pulled up Rowdy’s pants and his own, pulled off his boots and quickly helped Rowdy with his, climbed on the bed and drew Rowdy onto his side, wrapping his arms around him.

“Three weeks,” Rowdy muttered, shakily and dreamily. Favor’s hair was falling on his forehead, his face was still flushed from exertion, and he smelled of sweat and dust and sex, and Rowdy felt warm and sore and proud as hell.

“Yeah.” Hot breath and dry lips brushed his neck, and the voice close to his ear was low and quiet. “Three weeks of not knowin’ what I wanted.” A pause, then the voice rose a little. “To quit the damn race. Or to drag you somewhere and beat you senseless before you took that dry fork.” Rowdy winced as the volume rose some more. “Three weeks of worryin’ more about you than about my own herd.”

Rowdy freed himself from the embrace and tried to sit up, then decided it was not a good idea and lay down again, slowly and carefully. “You mean you wasn’t sure if I was goin’ to make it,” he grumbled.

“No.” Favor shoved a pillow against the bedstead and sat up, pulling Rowdy up to lie against his chest. “I wasn’t. Same as I ain’t sure if _I’m_ goin’ to make it, every time I set out on a drive.” He extracted his last cheroot from a shirt pocket, lit it, and blew a long puff of smoke through Rowdy’s dishevelled mop of hair. “A man takes a risk with anythin’ he does, one way or another.”

“Like you did when you recommended me to Mr Lockwood,” Rowdy said, fingertips undoing shirt buttons to scratch through damp chest hair and draw idle patterns on stomach muscles and on the first signs of flab on Favor’s waistline.

“Yeah. And like you did when you refused that offer to take that other herd to South Dakota.” A last puff, and the half-smoked cheroot was extinguished in the flowerpot on the bedside table. With a grin of approval, Rowdy lifted himself up to take Favor’s mouth in a kiss, the sharp taste of tobacco and the bitter traces of beer an enticing contrast to the soft texture of inner mouth and the unexpected gentle flicks of tongue against tongue.

Some time later, Favor broke the kiss and heaved a deep sigh. “Aw, hell.”

“Hell?” Rowdy laughed out loud. “We ain’t goin’ there. Not for the time bein’ at least.”

A soft chuckle, warm and tickling against Rowdy’s cheek. “No. But I got to go somewhere else on the six o’clock train tomorrow. Which if I’m not mistaken is...” Favor managed to extract and consult his pocket watch without dislodging Rowdy from the crook of his other arm. “... in three hours’ time. The girls’re expectin’ me in Philadelphia.”

“Oh.” Rowdy brooded over this for a moment. Then he realised that three weeks’ decision-making had taught him something after all. How to assess risks, for one thing. “Good,” he said determinedly. “I ain’t never been further east ‘n Chicago. Never gave a thought to explorin’ no further. But I might take the six o’clock train too, see a few new sights.” His voice trailed off a little. “Part ways to Philadelphia, maybe.”

A warm hand settled on the nape of his neck, calloused fingertips stroking through his hair. “Hmmm. Part ways.” He found himself being pushed flat on his back and undressed swiftly and efficiently. “Maybe. But for the time bein’..”

Rowdy slid between the sheets and stretched out, more than satisfied by the thought of “maybe”, the wonderful feel of clean cotton against bare skin, and the sight of the other man shucking off his clothes and climbing back into bed with him. “... we best grab some shut-eye,” he grinned.

Favor raised an appraising brow and then smiled, the wide, very pleasant smile he bestowed on his drovers before informing them that they’d be riding drag. “Maybe,” he said, reaching for him.


End file.
